A cruel summer dip into racism

A swimming day, finally. Plus 23C on the thermometer, glorious sunshine, blue sky, blackflies and mosquitos having taken a vacation, and it is a Sunday!

So we pack up a few odds and ends and hop in the pickup for the short trip to the river.

We live in Lower Economy and there are a few swimming spots we like but today we head off to where Highway 2 passes over the Economy River in Central Economy. We swim just downstream from it and sometimes even walk under the bridge when the water level is not too high.

My wife Mildred points to some new graffiti on the concrete footings under the bridge. I look ... whoa. This is not the usual variety as in “For a good time, phone....”

You don’t usually pay too much attention to that stuff, you know — low cerebral content. But this new graffiti seems well scripted, a steady and deliberate hand, somebody not just out having fun at the river with a spray bomb in his hand and feeling poetic. It reads:

ECONOMY

NIGGER

FREE

We are somewhat taken aback, of course, surprised with maybe a little bit of hurt mixed in. The statement or message was not there when we swam here last year.

My wife and her cousin are originally from Kenya and are black. My son is half-black. In the four years since my wife has been here in this little Nova Scotia town, the people have been welcoming and otherwise super. Jake, our son, seems to be known and loved by folks from Parrsboro to Truro. I am Caucasian and came here seven years ago from Ontario by way of Nunavut and my wife still teases me about bringing her to the promised land in Canada and then settling her in a place called Lower Economy.

But she is happy here, as are Kevin and Jake. This is our home and we like it fine. Milly found work at the local cheese farm, a change from the mutual funds office that employed her in Nairobi, but it is only 10 minutes away and she is spared the typical 45-minute drive to Truro to work. And work she wants to do, to keep herself busy and to support some of her family in Kenya with her modest income.

We were debating what, if anything, to do. Milly and Kevin were not overly perturbed as they knew this was a voice in the darkness and certainly not typical of the people around here, our neighbours. The few who heard about it were shocked and angry, some of whom already took it upon themselves to paint over the three telling words. On the other hand, as a father, I do not want my son Jake, who starts school this September in Bass River, to experience such hate lunacy on the basis of his brown skin and extreme curls. So a response of some kind is called for. Call the police and report a hate crime? We thought not. This community does not deserve that.

In the end, it was decided to write this letter. It is all really all about informing people and not covering things up, taking it away from the dark underside of a bridge and shining some light on it. We have confidence that most of our small towns, while being gossipy and a bit cautious about “come from away” folks of any colour, are basically self-correcting and tend to find ways to stifle the bad and promote the good.

On the basis of our experience here, we are calling it just a dumb gesture and we take solace in the realization that our community considers such actions unacceptable and definitely not “from here.”